


Echo

by OKami_hu



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: rotg_kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nightmare Festival has arrived and Nicholas St. North meets an alluring Fearling. (Kinkmeme fill)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Gypsies Tramps and Thieves kinkmeme AU. Link to the prompt is [HERE](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4214613#cmt4214613), and the OP has a [tumblr blog](http://nightmaregypsy.tumblr.com/) dedicated to the AU's background. I recommend reading the headcanons, otherwise you won't understand this.

It’s the Nightmare Festival again and the city is buzzing. The marketplace is filled with vendors and entertainers, children run about all excited and their parents try to keep them back, telling them that the Fearlings will steal them away. You can spot shadowy people on every corner, and sometimes tiny horses with flowy black manes will try to sweep you off your feet, while their bigger, majestic kind stand stoically near the dark, weatherworn tents and tightly packed carriages. The image is rather gloomy, but just once every year, the Fearlings are allowed to town, thanks to the benevolent Lunanoffs who can sometimes be spotted in their well-guarded, small gondola floating above the streets, with their baby boy flailing excitedly at the crowd below.

Fearlings know the importance of this gathering, and they know better than to cause trouble. But that doesn’t keep them from petty crime - pickpocketing, lying, cheating, selling trash to the gullible for the price of treasure. Nicholas St. North keeps an eye on them, just in case. He’s not officially on duty, which suits him best; as the young officer of the City Guards, he still has the authority to arrest troublemakers, but he doesn’t have to deny the fun from himself - he can enjoy the food, the sweet, potent Fearling spirits and all the sights the Festival offers.

When he spots the man, it’s a true stop and stare moment. Up on a stage, a lean, willowy male is dancing, decked in all black and golden jewelry. The music that moves him is fierce, like a battlesong, and he wields a weapon reminiscent of a scythe - the type of weapons Fearlings use are common household items. North is mesmerized by the precise, choreographed moves, the strength in them, the frown on the dark face, the determination - the song sings about everlasting hardships, hatred to face and a will to live, to survive at all cost. It does strike a chord inside.

When the music ends and the dancer stops, North shakes off the spell and while the crowd cheers, he rushes behind the stage, using his strength and authoritative manners both. He can still barely seize the dancer’s wrist. The lean man immediately tries to struggle free, flashing eyes at North that gleam in silver. “What do you want from me?!”

“I want to take you with,” North declares, with a wide grin, “To the next tavern to treat you for a drink and a meal if you’d like that. You are a great dancer, consider this a generous reward for your excellent performance! What’s your name?”

The silver eyes shift into molten gold. A slow smile tugs on the thin lips and the man carefully pulls his arm from North’s grip. He takes an elegant bow. “Pitch Black,” he replies, his voice like dark velvet. “And how could I refuse such a generous offer?”

In the tavern, over the first cup of wine, North doesn’t hide that his intentions aren’t pure - far from it. But he also makes it clear that Pitch is in no way obliged to cater to his wishes. “I swear upon Saint Nyx’s midnight tresses, if you say no, there will be no bad blood between us.”

The Fearling raises a nonexistent brow at the oath but acknowledges it with a solemn nod of his head.

As the day progresses into night, North parts from the contents of his purse - gradually, because Pitch’s presence at his side shields him from Fearling mischief. More wine is consumed, there’s a bit of dancing, with shiny boots drumming the rhythm against hardwood floor, North’s laughter booming and Pitch smiling; and as the lanterns are lit to illuminate the streets so the Festival could continue, the dancer and the officer are back outside, chasing the next thrill.

When a mounted messenger gallops down the road, shouting at the passers-by to clear the way, North pulls Pitch into an alley, out of harm’s way. The next thing he notices is a lean body pressing against his, and Pitch’s breath is fragrant with the heady aroma of spiced wine as he whispers. “You’re a man after my own heart, Nicholas. I think I take up on your offer.” Thin lips crush against his and North curls his hands around an impossibly slender waist as time stops for five heartbeats.

Up in the tiny tavern room, on sheets of ivory, they lie panting and sweating, Pitch’s body moving with a grace only dancers possess. He’s controlling and demanding as he rides North to the Heavens. The ointment they used to make their coupling easier smells like summer rain as North gasps for air.

In the darkness, Pitch’s white teeth show his grin. “You like to play with fire, don’t you, officer? You shouldn’t be dallying with a Fearling, we steal your gold and corrupt your children.”

“I know you don’t,” North replies, his voice amused. Pitch rakes blunt nails over his broad chest.

“You seem to know an awful lot about us.”

In the darkness, he can’t see it, but from the way how North’s hands slide up along his thighs and grasp his bony hips, Pitch knows that there is a smile on the other’s lips, knowing with the barest razor edge. And the reply is in a language that is dark as shadows, soft as the night and oh so dear to his heart.

“I did not take up on the offer.”

Pitch is silent and still for a moment, then he cites the old saying. “Share our bread and drink our water - brother you shall be forever.” He leans closer and his kiss is suddenly different; softer, warmer. “You chose wisely, little brother. Your eyes are beautiful as they are.”

*

When North wakes to the first light of morning, he’s more than pleased to find Pitch still at his side, dozing peacefully.


End file.
